Take a Chance on Me

Chapter Four



Standing on the threshold of Mitch’s living room, Maddie twisted her hands like a nervous old lady. They’d said their good-nights. He’d sent her to bed, and having to go and find him was the last thing she’d wanted.

She rubbed a finger over the slight indent where her engagement ring had been. Why must every stab at independence be met with more tests? She’d tried to take care of things herself but even the basics were challenging her.

Now here she was, once again forced to ask for help.

She cleared her throat, hoping to get his attention, but a car exploded on the large flat-screen TV, drowning her efforts. Of course he had surround sound. In a house dedicated to the 1930s, it was befitting that one of the few concessions to modern life would thwart her.

In the flickering gray light, his attention stayed firmly on the action movie and her glare was lost on the back of his head.

At the bar, when she’d been buzzed on whiskey and his intoxicating flirting, spending the night had been the ultimate temptation. But the second they’d entered his kitchen, all of that ease had evaporated like a desert mirage, replaced by the tension of two strangers forced into close proximity too soon.

After a few minutes of awkward conversation, he’d led her upstairs, handed her a T-shirt, and shoved her in a room straight out of her grandmother’s decorating book. In clipped tones, he’d pointed to the telephone, shown her how to lock the door, and offered to call the chief of police, who he apparently knew, to provide a character reference.

She’d said that wouldn’t be necessary and he’d said good night.

She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to face him until the following morning, but that was no longer an option. She had no other choice. Unable to avoid the inevitable any longer, she said, “Mitch?”

He jumped, whipping around to pin her with a scowl, obvious even in the shadowed room.

A tiny bolt of fear shot through her, and instinct had her two-stepping back.

“Sorry, you scared me.” The rigidness of his posture eased as he smiled. His gaze roamed over her wedding dress, which was practically filling the doorway with its overflowing skirts. “I thought I’d sent you to bed.”

Out of nowhere, the alcohol betrayed her. Her hand fluttered to her neck, fingers entwined on the crystal choker at her throat as something unforgivable welled inside her. “Um . . . I’m sorry,” she babbled, unable to form a coherent sentence. Please, God, no.

“Is something wrong?” Concern tightened his expression and he slid one arm over the length of the sofa.

Another step back. She couldn’t do this. The pressure in her chest grew. “I, um, it’s just . . .”

“Come here, Maddie, and tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was soft but insistent.

She took one small step forward, but the pressure threatened to crush her and her throat closed over. She stopped and looked down at the floor.

No. No. No. But it was too late.

She picked up a large handful of the dress. In this crazy, unreasonable moment, every problem in her life could be blamed on this stupid, god-awful, horrid princess wedding gown.

The floodgates opened and she burst into tears. Loud, wailing, obnoxious tears.

Her whole body shook as big, fat drops slid down her cheeks. Mortified, she covered her face as though she could hide her wailing.

Strong arms enveloped her and Mitch pulled her close. She gave one thought to protest, and then sank into the warm, solid strength of his chest. He was big and broad, so different from what she was used to. The thought made her cry harder.

She should push him away, but instead she curled closer. Needing him. She was the most wicked kind of woman. There’d be no escaping hell now. All those years of penance washed away by one night of rash behavior.

Mitch kissed her temple, rubbing his hands over her bare skin. That he let her cry, and didn’t start lecturing her on emotional outbursts, made her want to crawl into him and never let go.

He swayed them both, murmuring nonsense and tracing slow, soothing circles over her back. “Come on now, Princess. Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

She hiccupped into his shirt while she clung to him as though he were her life vest on a sinking ship. A great gush of air was followed by a hiccup. She blurted her very pressing and very embarrassing need. “I-I h-have to go to the b-b-bathroom.”

The gentle sway stopped. A rumble in his chest was followed by a cough.

He was trying not to laugh. The jerk.

She sobbed harder: great heaping wails straight from the pit of her stomach. Now that she was on a roll, she keened pitifully, “A-and m-m-y f-feet hurt.”

“It’s okay.” His tone was most definitely amused. “Why didn’t you go?”

Now came the worst confession. “M-my dress i-is too b-big.”

“Well, take it off.”

Did he think she was an idiot?

“I c-can’t get it off.” With a fresh batch of hysterics, her shoulders trembled as she buried her face in his T-shirt, now wet with tears. No one at the store had mentioned she’d need a crew of people to go to the bathroom, and now a stranger had to undress her. She hiccupped. They really should mention these kinds of details at the time of purchase.

He ran his fingers down a million tiny buttons from the blades of her shoulders to the curve of her ass. “It’s okay. We can take care of this.”

“B-but,” she cried. The thought almost unbearable. She was being tested. How was she supposed to be good when she had to disrobe in front of the most gorgeous man alive? “You’ll s-see me almost n-naked.”

When he said nothing, fresh tears welled in her eyes. He probably thought she was propositioning him. Surely women threw themselves at him all the time.

He rubbed her bare arms. “I’m thirty-four, Princess. I’ve seen a naked woman before.”

“But you haven’t seen me.” No one had seen her—well, except Steve, but he hardly even counted. “I’m twenty-eight, and only one guy has seen me. And he isn’t like you. Why can’t you be someone else?”

“Like who?” He trailed a path over her bare skin, creating a rush of tingles up and down her spine.

She burrowed closer, some of her hysterics finally calming as his soothing but intoxicating presence worked its charm. “You’re not Mister Rogers, you know.”

“You can trust me, Maddie. I won’t attack.”

Ha! Not a concern. Once he saw her puny body, he’d probably wonder if she was a boy. Who knew what she’d do in her weakened emotional state with no clothes to protect her? She hadn’t been on her own since she was fifteen. What if she went crazy? She’d believed she’d been cured of her former wildness, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe it had only been hidden by years of emotional repression. Unable to stop the constant blurting of confessions, she cried, “But I might attack you.”

His hands tightened at her waist as though he wanted to curl his fingers into fists.

Embarrassed, she pressed closer, not wanting to let him go despite the growing urgency of her bladder. If she let go, she might start blubbering all over again.

His grip loosened and he traced a path up her arm to cup her jaw. With an insistent hold, he gently forced her chin up until she met his gaze. Eyes watery from her tears, she blinked him into focus.


He gave her an easy smile. “Princess, I’m six-three, and probably outweigh you by a good eighty pounds. I can fight you off.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you get this all the time.” She sniffed. “With your unfortunate good looks.”

“Now that’s one I’ve never heard before,” he teased.

Her eyes welled up again. “I’m trying so hard to be good, but things aren’t going my way.”

“I’m sure the Pope will understand,” he said, laughter threading his voice.

A few more tears slid down her cheeks. No one would ever understand. “I’m going to hell.”

“No way. You’re far too sweet.” He stroked over her cheek, and she buried her face in his chest. He started that slow sway again as she took deep, calming breaths.

“How about this?” he continued. “Let’s get you out of this dress and then we can talk.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing along his T-shirt. “I tried to squirm out of it myself, but it’s too tight.”

“Turn around, and I’ll get you out of this thing.”

“Are you sure?” She burrowed deeper, even though the pressure on her bladder was increasingly uncomfortable.

“I’m positive. No big deal. I promise.” He sounded casual enough, and as he’d pointed out, he’d seen plenty of naked women. Besides, now that she was thinking clearly in the aftermath of her outburst, she realized that after he unbuttoned the dress, she could hold it up until she reached safety.

See? She could do this. It’d be easy. The dress might weigh fifty pounds, but she had the strength to hold it. Under her brother James’s tutelage, she’d been working on her biceps for months in the gym.

She stopped clutching his waist and bravely stepped away. “I’ll be good.”

A wide, devilish grin flashed over his lips, and he looped an arm around her and pulled her back. For a split second, he lost the hard set of his jaw and looked downright carefree. “Or I can make you come three or four times until you’re too exhausted to pounce.”

Shocked, she widened her eyes, and heat seared her cheeks. “That’s not being good!”

“It is if you do it right.”

“Um . . . I . . . ,” she gasped, stepping back. “Um . . . ,” she sputtered, not knowing what to say. Was that even possible? She darted a glance at Mitch and bit her bottom lip.

With him, it might be, assuming she could get out of her own head. She frowned. Why was she thinking about this? She was not considering this. She wasn’t. This was something the old Maddie would have considered, back when she was young and reckless. Rash.

She wasn’t that kind of woman anymore. Or was she?

Concern flattened the smile that had graced Mitch’s lips moments ago. He held up his hands, as though she were a frightened animal and he had to demonstrate how harmless he was. “Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot myself for a second, and you’re fun to tease.”

Oh, so he’d been joking. She steeled her spine. Such a relief. She didn’t want to find out anyway.

Because that would be very, very wrong.





Now why the hell had he gone and said that?

He’d finally calmed her down, and now he had to f*ck it up. He raked a hand through his hair and tried not to get distracted when her pink tongue darted over her strawberry-stained mouth.

Since she still hadn’t said anything, he continued to work on digging himself out of the hole he’d dug. “Can you forgive me? Men are complete idiots when a woman cries.” He gave her the smile he’d reserved for old ladies in the jury box.

She nibbled on her lower lip, looking pensive and wary.

The bluebird in his grandma’s cuckoo clock sprang from its door and chirped, breaking the silence. Maddie jumped, pressing her hand to her chest as though trying to keep her heart from jumping out.

As the clock struck, he cursed himself for making her uncomfortable. How could he have made such a tactical error? From what he’d discerned, she might as well be a virgin.

He’d simply forgotten himself. Lost in her charm and good-girl complex, he’d said the first teasing thing that sprang to mind.

And since he was a guy, it had been sexual.

He took two cautious steps toward her, hoping she wouldn’t bolt upstairs. “That wasn’t the best thing to say when I’m trying to get you out of your clothes.”

Auburn brows drew together in what he could only suspect was disapproval.

He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t the time to mention seeing her naked. Shit, it was like he had no experience with women.

She still said nothing, just stared at him with those uncanny green eyes. And damn if it wasn’t making him a bit unsettled. It had been so long since he’d been anything but cool and detached, even before his troubles in Chicago. The knowledge caused a stirring of unease.

“I swear, I didn’t mean it.” He was starting to sound like a sixteen-year-old apologizing for trying to get to second base.

Quietly, she toyed with the fabric of her dress, picking at one of the sparkly beads.

At a loss for how to make the situation right, he offered the one thing he wanted to avoid, but was guaranteed to put her at ease. “Do you want me to call my neighbor, Gracie, to come help you out of your dress? She eats shit like this up, so you’ll make her day.”

Maddie shifted on the balls of her feet.

He narrowed his eyes. No matter how hard he peered at her, she remained a mystery. He sweetened the offer. “She’s a baker, so I bet she even has some cupcakes or cookies lying around.”

Maddie placed her hand on her stomach.

Why wouldn’t she speak? He raked a hand through his hair. “Princess, take pity on me here. I can’t begin to guess what you’re thinking. Did I scare you away forever?”

She blinked, her face clearing as though she’d suddenly come out of a trance. “I’m sorry. Other than being an emotional basket case, I’m fine.”

This was why he needed to refrain from any more cute remarks. “Let me call Gracie.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not up to meeting anyone.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said, taking a deep breath. Hand still resting on her stomach, she took a step, closing the distance between them.

God help him.

Determined to remain a perfect gentleman, he encircled her wrist and said in a light tone, “Let me get you out of this dress.”

“Thank you.” That defiant little chin of hers tilted as though to gather her courage.

He twirled her under the curve of his arm until she faced away. “Once you’re free, go run right upstairs. I want you to feel safe, so use the lock if it makes you feel better. Okay?”

She craned her neck to peer at him. Even red-rimmed and puffy, her eyes were luminous. The line of her neck curved into the hollow of her shoulder, creating a stunning silhouette that about knocked him to his knees along with her next words. “I trust you, Mitch.”

His chest squeezed tight. Everything about her tempted him. He released his hold, running a hand up her bare arm. “Don’t.”

He’d given in to this kind of desire once and his whole life had gone up in flames, leaving him with no other option but to start over. And he had. He’d created a nice, comfortable life for himself here in Revival. He’d believed he was content. But now he knew it was a lie—he’d been complacent, bored.


Maddie made him remember why he’d loved the chase. Why he used to hunt down a challenge like a bloodhound. After he’d left Chicago, he’d sworn he’d never make the same mistakes.

He was older now, and wiser. This time, he’d do the smart thing.

He trailed a path down between her shoulder blades, catching on the band of fabric. Damn, she had beautiful skin: ivory pale and smooth as silk.

She sucked in a breath, holding it.

Would this be his only chance to touch her? He toyed with the first button. Dallying. For all he knew, he could wake up in the morning and find her gone.

“Um.” She shifted and cleared her throat. The sway of heavy satin rustled in the thick silence. “Aren’t you going to get on with it?”

That was the last thing he wanted, but he let the first satin-covered button slip free. The pad of his finger brushed exposed skin. So f*cking soft.

Her dress began to slip. “I can’t have sex with you.” He undid another button, ignoring how hard he’d been for her all damn night. “That’s why you’re going straight to bed after I get you out of this thing.”

She clutched the thick band of fabric to her chest as her head dipped low. “Can you really do that?”

Distracted by the slow, excruciating exposing of skin, he absently asked, “Do what?”

Another button opened, and she made a little squeak. “You know . . . that.” Her voice was a whisper as she hiked the dress up to keep it from falling to the floor.

Two more buttons undone revealed the first hint of the white silk she wore under the satin. Unable to resist the lure of her, he leaned down and sucked in her sweet, feminine scent.

He needed to get this conversation onto safe ground, but he was unable to push back the words. “Make you come?”

“Yes,” she said, with a soft intake of breath. “Like you said.”

Shit, he was in trouble here. His fingers played down the curve of her spine. Male satisfaction settled deep in his bones when goose bumps rose on her skin. “Yes, Maddie. I’d love nothing better than to make you come.” With another stroke along her flesh, he ignored the remaining buttons. “With my hands. My mouth.” He pressed his lips close to her neck but didn’t dare touch. “You wouldn’t have to do any work at all.”

“I see.” A little squeak.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He had to stop this. With gritted teeth, he made quick work of the last remaining buttons, and then, even though it killed him, he stepped away and let her go. “You’re free.”

She turned around slowly, still clutching the heavy fabric to her chest. Her arms shook a little. “What about you?”

Was she trying to kill him? Test him to see if he was a candidate for sainthood? He assessed her, studying her closely. He didn’t see any coyness lurking. No artificial flirtation or feigned innocence. If anything, she looked—he cocked his head, taking in the line of her jaw, the tilt of her chin—curious. He made an impulsive decision and opted for bluntness. “There are a million things I can do to you that don’t include my cock, Maddie.”

“Oh.” A gasp. She took an involuntary step backward, then froze in her tracks. The bodice of her dress slipped a little. “But I don’t understand.”

“What are you confused about?” There was a razor-sharp edge in his tone. He swallowed to remove the tension choking him.

She nibbled her bottom lip, her auburn brows drawing together. “What do you get out of it?”

“I get to put my hands and mouth all over you. That’s what I get out of it.”

Her expression went blank. Her lips parted, only to snap shut again.

Her reasons for climbing out a church window were becoming clearer by the second. He should keep his mouth shut and let her work through her own thoughts, but screw it. “Not all men are selfish pricks in bed.”

She stepped back, and the dress faltered, threatening to slip from her grasp. “This conversation is inappropriate, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said, watching her precarious hold on the heaps of fabric. He wasn’t sure if he was praying for it to fall or stay up. He cleared his throat. “But it’s still time for you to go to bed.”

With a sharp nod, she backed out of the room. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Anytime, Princess.” She’d better get out of here fast, or he’d be coming after her. She turned and started to climb the stairs, and he called innocuously, “Sleep well.”

“You too,” she said, moving more quickly, until she disappeared with a final swish of white. Fifteen seconds later, he heard the slam of a door.

He blew out a deep breath and ran a hand over his day’s worth of stubble. This was going to be a long f*cking night.